


The Usual

by cloverfield



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Date Night, Established Relationship, M/M, Public Displays of Affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:26:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22185568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloverfield/pseuds/cloverfield
Summary: “He’s late again,” says Sakura, leaning idly over the counter.“He’s always late. Especially on Fridays.”“Still,” says Sakura, now hanging over the counter with her arms dangling across it, “he shouldn’t make you wait.”“He’s worth waiting for,” mutters Kurogane, and doesn’t see the grin Sakura gives him as he heads towards his favourite booth.
Relationships: Fay D. Fluorite/Kurogane, Kurogane & Sakura | Tsubasa
Comments: 6
Kudos: 74





	The Usual

**Author's Note:**

> Friday night is date night, and Fai is running late.

“He’s late again,” says Sakura, leaning idly over the counter. It’s quiet enough that she’s the only one working the front tonight. Kurogane, still working on the sudoku in today’s newspaper, shrugs with half a shoulder, pen scratching neat lines of numbers into their squares.

“He’s always late. Especially on Fridays.”

Which is true enough, even if Friday is the one night of the week Fai tries his hardest not to be. But if it’s not a hold-up in traffic with ducks crossing the road, or a stray cat getting caught in a tree, it’s an unexpected fire drill or a flooded basement and panicking interns, and Kurogane is used to it by now.

“Still,” says Sakura, now hanging over the counter with her arms dangling across it, “he shouldn’t make you wait.”

“He’s worth waiting for,” mutters Kurogane, and doesn’t see the grin Sakura gives him as he heads towards his favourite booth - _their_ booth, complete with reservation sign. It’s been like that for however long since they started eating here on Friday nights (seven months, two weeks exactly) this cosy little cafe/restaurant on the business strip a ten-minute walk from Fai’s office, and a four minute stroll from Kurogane’s studio. It doesn’t hurt that the coffee is pretty good either.

The booth is old oak and burgundy leather, both aged to a glossy shine, and Kurogane drops the newspaper on the tabletop as he slides across to the far side, closest to the window. From here, he has a perfect view of the street, even through the trees that break up the streetlamps with dappled shadows.

“Well,” says Sakura, crossing over and bringing out her writing pad, “I can at least get started on your order. Do you know what he wants?” She says it with a giggle and Kurogane rolls his eyes- Fai’s ordered the same damn thing every time they’ve come here for the past three months, ever since the highly-strung but admittedly brilliant cook took over the kitchen.

“The usual,” says Kurogane absently, turning back to the paper. He wipes the smudges of ink on his fingers from the newsprint onto his jeans. “Don’t bother writing it down.”

Sakura’s already brought their drinks - mineral water and bitters, heavy on the lime; a godawfully-sweet malted chocolate milkshake with extra icecream - and retreated to the kitchen by the time Kurogane has finished browsing the sports section and has moved onto his battered paperback, and when the door rattles open, a brief gust of wind chasing through the door and rattling the blinds, he looks up to see Fai stamping his shoes free of the gently-pattering rain and stripping off his coat.

“I’m sorry,” he says, mouth twisting unhappily, and that’s not what Kurogane wants to see; he catches Fai’s elbow when he nears the booth, tugging him down and pulling him into the seat to press cool and slightly damp against Kurogane’s side. “I really didn’t mean to linger, but there was a problem with the La Vita case, and then I- _mmph_.”

Kurogane doesn’t do PDA’s; never has, never will. It’s a good thing then this corner of the room is all but deserted, the two of them alone in their booth, and while the kiss is brief it is meaningful, enough to forestall Fai’s apologies and ease the furrow to his brow.

“Hm. Hello to you too, Kuro-rin,” Fai murmurs, brushing his fringe from his eyes. His hair is rain-speckled, his cheeks flushed. “Were you waiting long?”

“No,” says Kurogane, and that’s true enough. (He’d wait forever, if he had to.)

But Fai is still worried, just a little, even as he sips at his milkshake and makes the same nigh-orgasmic noise he always makes at the taste of chocolate and home-made vanilla bean ice-cream; Kurogane can see it in the way his eyes flick urgently across the table and the windows and back again.

“Spit it out,” says Kurogane bluntly.

“I got you a key,” blurts out Fai in a trembling rush, glass jittering nervously against the tabletop as he sets his drink down. “A key. I know we haven’t talked about it much but I thought,” and here he rustles in his pockets, digging out, yes, a key, dull metal gleaming between pale nerveless fingers, “and you spend so much time at my place that really there’s no point-”

“Yes,” says Kurogane, closing his hand around the key and Fai’s fingers both.

Because that’s all that needs to be said, and it’s been seven months, two weeks exactly, and Kurogane would have waited so much longer to be asked. And if Sakura has to turn around on the spot half-way through crossing the floor to bring them their dinner because Fai has a handful of his shirt and the privacy of the booth does nothing to hide the frantic kiss of pure relief planted firmly on his lips, well, it _is_ Friday, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Part of this comes from the fact that, for myself and my partner, Friday night is the one night a week we eat out together in the city. Even though we've been together for so long, going out together never stops being wonderful, even if it's just a quick bite to eat after work.


End file.
